


Kisses On The Necks of Best Friends

by tttyg



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tttyg/pseuds/tttyg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete has a thing for Patrick's neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kisses On The Necks of Best Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://instagram.com/p/aRKpxCvu2v/) picture.
> 
> Originally written for somebody on Tumblr a few months ago.

As he licks a long unbroken line along the perfect pale skin of Patrick’s throat, Pete reflects on how much better things are between them now. Not just in bed, though Pete appreciates Patrick’s low moan and the way his eyes are half-rolled back into his head (though that probably has more to do with Pete’s hand tugging at Patrick’s cock than the way he’s tasting Patrick’s jaw) . He stops moving for a moment and just sits there astride the singer of his band, admiring his body laid out beneath him unselfconsciously. Patrick stares back up at him, those perfect features rearranging themselves into a scowl as he reaches down to grab Pete’s hand over his dick.

“Did I tell you to stop?” he growls in that low tone he knows always goes straight to Pete’s crotch. _Oh yeah, there’s that newfound confidence._ He grins and resumes where he’d left off, leaning down to suck at Patrick’s neck just below his ear. Usually Patrick would push him off before he could leave a mark, but right now he’s kind of busy coming over Pete’s hand with a grunt that somehow still manages to sound angelic.

“Pete,” he whispers a few minutes later, when he is still trailing his lips over Patrick’s neck. “We have a rehearsal to get to.”

In the end he has to physically push Pete off him, reaching for the crumpled denim shirt Pete had pulled off of him fifteen minutes earlier when he was trying to get dressed. He goes over to the mirror to inspect his throat for bruising as he buttons it up.

“You’re such a vampire.” Pete hisses theatrically as he pulls on his jeans, earning his favourite deep chuckle from Patrick as they leave to go and soundcheck for that night’s show.

- 

In the first shows back performing with this new Patrick, Pete was stunned by the change in dynamic. No more hiding under the brim of a cap and hunching into his jacket, shrugging away from Pete’s playful advances. This time around, Patrick was the one to dance around and bare his throat to Pete, an open invitation he was almost too distracted by Patrick’s resonant voice to take. Before Pete was the one trying to make Patrick uncomfortable, but these days Patrick was in control, deepening his voice as he met Pete’s eyes and then threw his head back as if in rapture, the way he did those times in the middle of the night when Pete was gently fucking him until he came with a sigh. He knew damn well what it would remind Pete of and the effect it had on him. He spent every show holding his bass in front of the bulge in his crotch just in case his stupid long shirt didn’t cover it, and tonight is no exception. Patrick seems to be in an especially playful mood; during Saturday when Pete tucks his head into Patrick’s shoulder while he sings along, Patrick slides his hand down Pete’s back and squeezes; they’re at an angle where the only person who can see it is poor Andy, who’s probably used to things he shouldn’t be seeing by now.

They’re barely backstage before Pete is dragging Patrick aside and kissing him roughly, and from the triumphant gleam in his eyes Pete knows Patrick was pushing him to do this all night. They’re both a little breathless as they stagger into an empty dressing room and close the door; Pete noticed the moment Patrick handed his guitar off to a tech that he wasn’t the only one who got overexcited on stage. Maybe Patrick had been thinking of Pete’s tongue when he threw his head back to expose his neck.

As if reading his mind, Patrick smirks and tugs his collar open. Pete surges forward and presses Patrick into the wall roughly enough to knock his hat to the floor, muffling his protest with his lips. Patrick’s hands are undoing Pete’s belt and the button of his jeans as Pete presses his face into Patrick’s shoulder, tugging his shirt aside and mouthing at the sensitive spot where Patrick’s neck meets his shoulder until Patrick lets out a gasp.

“The lube is on the bus,” he manages to choke out as Pete tastes the night’s sweat collected in the hollow of Patrick’s throat.

“Fuck,” Pete whispers against Patrick’s skin.


End file.
